The mouse

A little package of furry hunger

Scratching at the hidden

Corners of our lives, dashing

Between a fallen rice crispy 

Here, a popped pumpkin seed

There, a forgotten pod of arborio

Or basmati, no longer safe behind the stove.

The little patter of complacency,

A little token from the underworld,

The wide world outside, the

World of keen smells and  bendy

Eyes, scanning Nature for

Morsels of respite between the

Springs of my trap

Sorry little one, quick one

I am sorry and I hope 

You find another place

To call your own, you

Are not welcome here

Sink back into Nature’s

Raw Peace 

Oceanopia

Much dark and thick possibility so much sound

Shooting up like a rock from the seas with myriad

Layers, layering upon layer in dry notes that jag

 

Shapes in the clay furrows already layered above

The waves ready for you, your sound summoned

Up from the deep so deep and dark so dark and

Deep deep breathless deep silent blackness blued

Out with dark deep darkness calling you back

 

And pulling you up without tension is

A perfect curving swoop of free joy and peace

Without cessation floating fast motion rolling crisply

With sudden air bursting nobly, regal flare, to say

Blow rushed Hey to the Sun and the stars and

 

Their rays and the Moon and the waves and

The bright bright tight spaces dancing, tickling

Upper world before swinging back round to the

Beginning of everything and into everything

That holds food and fish and blue and

 

Dark and deep and low and teeming back

Black and back up above, to breathe

Like a wave a breath like the first. The first.

Throughout Nature

The water is all around us and can
Lift us. We will never sink if we
Drown doubt with open – eyed gratitude

The maker is continuous and so
Should we, a product, be, for
We form all in our own image

Continuity in Hope, and it repeats
Us so everything will come
Up at sum point, mathematically.

Hope never ceases, like Time, it is,
Bright, you will not find a black
Hole that’s not shot with hope – spots,
Throughout.

Midnight chorus

Awake on the city’s lines
Birds sing karaoke, out of time

To Night’s electric dirty
Diesel dittied backing beats,

Dawn turns up unannounced,
And turns up the original track,

Instantly everything syncs back
Into perfect harmony, as usual.

Nuclear Energy

I can’t see the
Small particles but it helps
To suspect there’s some
Truth somewhere
Inside us, probably
Behind our eyes.

Eating money

Money makes meat

Money makes wheat

Money makes pies

Money makes my

Eyes look up

To see what I

Can buy for

Four pounds fifty

For gut and skin

Atop a gurgling

Frame, claimed

By Nature, part of

Her despite millennia

Of ink and paper.

Money makes meat

Money makes wheat

Money makes pies

Money makes men

Weep for shame,

Heaped up against

The Life they can’t

Afford, makes them

Dive below the bar,

Without the breath

To see a pearl,

Just enough to

Feel the deep

Press their lungs

And sting their wounds.